The Joke's On You
by GlitterCarnival
Summary: Did you think there was only ever one Joker? Only one Harley Quinn? I've heard some pretty crazy stories about how the Joker supposedly comes back from the dead time after time. Let me tell you this: no one can come back from the dead. R&R.
1. Let Me Tell You

"All the world loves a clown."  
-Cole Porter-

I guess, the joke really is on you...

Did you think there was only ever one Joker? Only one Harley Quinn?

I've heard some pretty crazy stories about how the Joker supposedly comes back from the dead time after time, and I've got to tell you they're all a load of crap. Every story seems to get more full of crap than the last. Let me tell you this: no one can come back from the dead.

No one knows exactly how many Jokers there have been. It's mostly because no one was keeping count for a while, so the number that everything is based off of is kinda fuzzy. I think we were up to the sixth by the time I came to the group. I've known three of the Jokers so far.

Isaac Dennings was the first Joker I ever met, and probably the most sane. He took me under his wing when I was just a little street-rat scrounging through trash bins for scraps of food. Sure he had his moments, like every Joker, but he must've been the kindest guy in the gang. Everyone else says that's what got him killed so quick in the end. One bullet to the chest while he was "negociating" with a rival group of thugs. He held on with the best of them. When he came back we didn't even notice until he fell to his knees from blood loss. I was sixteen when he died.

His hand-picked successor was only two years my senior. God, I'll never understand how he put up with the Joker persona. You see, when a guy becomes The Joker, it's not just the makeup and clothing they have to deal with. No, it's like their soul is taken over by something stronger than them. This thing is passed along down the line, carrying with it the insanity, the anger, the confusion. Watching someone you love go through that is something I'll never be able to forget. No matter what.

So, this is my story. Don't think I'm crazy for all the things I've done. This is how I was raised. After all, I'm possessed too.


	2. Death of the Fool

"If I couldn't laugh I just would go insane, If we couldn't laugh we just would go insane, If we weren't all crazy we would go insane"  
-Jimmy Buffett-

I guess I should start my story with an ending. One of the most dramatic and cliche endings I've ever lived through. It's not really the best place to start, but if I told you all of it you'd be bored before too long. Even though Mistah J and I had a rather unorthodox start to our relationship, it would still be hard for you to understand. When I say unorthodox, I mean that we had time to get to know each other. Usually, you don't. It's a sudden feeling that overwhelms you. You don't have a choice in the matter. I think it's better that way. The way we went about it was stupid. We got to know each other before the mess.

Thank God it was a breezy night. The breeze always made me feel better. It was like it could lift me off of my perch on the side of that dilapidated building and take me far away. I liked sitting outside on windy nights. It calmed me. It got rid of the paranoia. He tapped me on the shoulder gently, raspy voice hoarse from all the laughter, "Harley?"

I didn't bother turning around. We were so close, we didn't have to look into each other's eyes to have a real conversation. Yeah, Mistah J?"

Rule One: Never call each other by your real first names. It makes things too awkward. Especially in our situation, because we used to actually use those names. Besides, they weren't as powerful as the newer names. Those ones held more meaning. Everyone that had used them before us had the same bond we shared. It added something that normal names could never accomplish.

"I just thought I'd tell you I was leaving now." There was a secret meaning behind every word we ever spoke to each other. He was still standing inside the scaffolding, while I stood on the very end of one single beam of steel. I reached my hand behind me and felt soft leather gloves grip as gently as they could. My free arm went out to my side, so that I could keep my balance. Walking hundreds of feet above a city was no simple feat. We had just grown used to it; become immune to the dizzying height. His hand trembled lightly in mine as I led him to the end of the beam. I guess I was more used to it than he was.

"Puddin, you be careful tonight, you hear?" I turned then, still holding his gloved hand. He looked down at me, six inches of advantage. The perpetual smile that was painted onto his face sorta twinged at the corners. He never understood why I worried.

His eyes rolled as he sighed, "I've told you every time. I'll be fine. Okay?"

"Yeah, well last time you didn't come back okay! You had that bullet in you and everything." As soon as I had said those words, I knew I had gone to far. Questioning his abilities or word was never a good thing. His free hand flew towards me. I was used to getting backhanded. It didn't hurt too much anymore. I only winced because I was afraid I was going to fall off the beam and the wind wouldn't be able to catch me. Boy was I surprised when he grabbed my waist a second later, keeping me stable. Mistah J always did have fast reflexes.

"Fine, Harls. I'll be careful."

As he tipped my chin up, I traced the scar on the left side of his mouth. It hadn't been there forever, but it suited him. His lips twinged up lightly before crashing into mine. We didn't have sweet and easy kisses. Ours were rough, maybe even painful sometimes. I didn't care much. Any kiss was better than getting hit again. My eyes stayed shut as he let me go. His footsteps told me he was walking away. "I love you, Puddin!"

My angel never even looked back to show that he'd heard me. I guess he was mad at himself. He's not supposed to give into what I want like he just did. Having me around was a big weakness for him in the gang world. Too much attachment to anyone and your enemies have something to take from you. Nobody in the streets of Gotham wants a soft spot.

Carefully, I sat back down on that steel beam and stared out over the city lights. I knew what was going to happen. A bank robbery. We were getting low on funds. The problem was, the gang wasn't robbing just any old bank. Nope, my Puddin had picked out one of the most heavily guarded banks. I'd never even heard of it, because it was off somewhere in the fancy part of Gotham. A bank like that wouldn't get any business here. There's not enough people with good money to put in a bank.

There's no telling how long I sat there. If I ever got up, I don't remember doing it. There was something telling me to stay put and wait. So, that's what I did, wasting the time away by humming to myself. Then I saw it. Right in front of my eyes, a huge flash of orange light and ploom of smoke rose from the city. Just half a second later I heard the boom. It always fascinated me how the shock came after the sight.

I went back into the hideout then, sitting down on our rag of a couch to stare at the black and white TV we stole about six months ago. The news would tell me if he was coming back or not. I hate relying on some phony idiots for such important information. They had a power over me in a way. Those rich bastards behind that damn news desk had the power of determining my emotional (and probably mental) state. That night it was like they wanted to drag it out as far as they could, talking about the bank robbery, but not realy mentioning anything other than the obvious. Yes, I know the bank was robbed by The Joker. Of course, Batman showed up to save the day and ruin our lives.

The remote flew from my hand as I yelled, "What about my Puddin?!"

When I got the answer I didn't want it. A gruff voice behind me answered, "He's right here, Harley Quinn."

I turned on my heels, nearly falling over the sofa. My brain and heart were having a competition to see which one could over react more. Two of the goons were carrying my Puddin. He looked so limp. They set him down gently on the sofa, right in fronta me. My damn eyes were leaking. They had beat my brain to the conclusion. Then, my hands started feeling around for that spot on a person's neck where you can feel their heart beat. I couldn't find his so I started checking his wrist too. Where was it, damn it?

My voice shook when I whimpered, "You promised...You said you'd take care of yourself, Mistah J." A shot pause. Then I lost it. My fist pounded into his chest, "You Bastard!"

The rest of that night is a blur. From what some of the others have told me, I went crazier than Mistah J had ever gone. I wouldn't let go of him, so they had to tear me away. They were scared I was gonna hurt myself or something, what with all the thrashing I was doing. The next day, my eyes felt rubbery from all the crying. I couldn't believe it. Sure, every single one of the Jokers is gonna die sometime, but I wanted to die before mine. It's harder for Harley when her Puddin dies. Mistah J can usually do pretty okay without Harley. Not the best, but okay. I know at least one of the Harleys before me commited suicide. It's not a hard concept for me to understand. You've given up everything for him, so what's the point in going on if he's not there? There really isn't one. That's what I was thinking when the realization finally sunk in.

My Pudding, my Mistah J, my Angel was never coming back for me.

I wanted to quit right then and there, but I wanted something else more. I wanted revenge.


	3. No Joker in the Deck

"I am not a sad clown. I am not a sad clown."  
Nathan Lane

We had the funeral the night after he died. The same henchmen that had brought him back, dug a rectangle six feet deep in the part of the Gotham City Park that no one but the drug addicts wandered into. It was my job to make him pretty for the worms. My hands were trembling when I buttoned up his coat, so it took damn near an hour. Each Joker is buried in his full outfit. It wouldn't make any sense to keep it. For one thing, not a single one of the Jokers is ever the same physically. So, we buried my Puddin in the park, all dressed up. He looked so peaceful and handsome laying in his plywood coffin.

They gave me a few moments with him, just to say my last goodbyes and stuff. I don't remember all of what I said. Even if I did I don't think I'd tell you all of it. Some of that stuff was pretty personal, the type of things you only tell your best friend or no one at all. I mean, I guess I can give you the gist of it as long as I skip around those little bits. For the most part I talked about how we had gotten to know each other. We had met when we where really little, when Mr. Dennings let me into the hideout. God, I had been scared out of my mind. I knew who he was. Who wouldn't know The Joker? Mr. D was smart. He probably knew everything about me by the time he decided to invite me into the gang. I'm pretty sure he knew I didn't have any parents, any place to go, or anything to lose.

It was his Harley Quinn that won me over in the end. She got me to actually walk through those big steel doors into the old abandoned factory. As a kid the place had seemed so much bigger. All the now boring, beat up furnishings were once amazing and awe inspiring. I can't remember ever sitting on a couch watching TV before my days in the gang. My life on the streets had been a rough one and I wasn't about to take all these precious gifts for granted. Espeicially one of them.

His name was Jacory. Everyone called him Jack for short. He was the nicest person I had ever met, besides Mr. Dennings of course. I might even go so far as to say that he was my first real friend. We were inseperable. I'd follow him around, trying not to get caught. He'd throw little pebbles at me and pretend he had no idea what I was talking about. The last Harley, she thought it was about the cutest darned thing she'd ever seen. Mr. Dennings, on the other hand, wasn't as happy about it. I think he knew what was going to happen. He knew that the halls I used to follow Jack through would turn into dark alley ways. Those pebbles that used to hit me in the head would turn into fists.

Yeah, my sweet little kid crush was just a hint of what was to come. No one really thought Jackory was going to be the Joker, though. They all thought he was way too docile and kind-hearted. He was the greatest theif, but he never picked any fights or anything. The only few times he did get into a scrap was because he was defending himself. The other guys teased him a lot. I kinda blame myself for some of that. Boys tend to get picked on if they hang out with girls too much. I told him that, sitting on the edge of his grave.

Getting to sleep was hard that night. I kept hearing his voice in my ear, but everytime I looked behind me there was nothing but shadows. Sleeping well really isn't my thing anyway. After you share nights with the Joker, you get used to waking up ever hour or so. I never knew when he was going to wake up, because Mistah J lived on such a wacked out schedule. So, to solve this problem, I'd just wake up every now and again to check on him. That way, I could get up in time to do all those little chores that he never noticed. It didn't bug me that he never noticed. He was always so tired. Poor Pooh.

Well, after waking up every five minutes for a half hour, I decided that it was time for me to get up. Our little alarm clock blared the time at me through the darkness in neon green numbers. It wasn't even dawn yet. I stumbled out of bed, not really paying attention to anything. When you're trying to numb yourself from pain you tend to numb yourself from the rest of the world. My body could get me through my routine on autopilot. Even if my brain had been working it wouldn't have been much help. The last few days had left it wasted and listless. Nothing made sense when I tried to think about it so I just gave up on the whole process.

It took me a good five minutes to wake up and realize what I was doing. The iron was in my right hand, my left busy smoothing down the purple fabric. My body froze as I finally woke up to reality. It was his extra coat. The one that he used when the other one got blood or dirt on it and need to be cleaned. My throat closed up and I set the iron down as soft as I could. The whole room got blurry as the tears came back again. I gripped at the fabric, clenching and unclenching my hands. What was I supposed to do now? My whole life had been fixed to revolve around my Puddin's. More than half my daily activities were spent taking care of the things he was way to busy to do all on his own. Now, I had no one to take care of but myself. I didn't need much. Time had proven that to me. As I sat down on our bed, that damn sadness stabbed me in the pit of my stomach. It hurt just like a real knife would. So bad, in fact, that I had to curl up into a little ball. It was in this position that I finally figured out why I hadn't been able to sleep. There bed was freezing cold.

After forcing myself out of the hideout, I remembered the one chore I could still do. No matter what, there was always some bit of shopping to be done. Actually, the appropriate term would be "shoplifting". You see, there's this trick with shoplifting. I learned it from Mr. Dennings. You can't just steal stuff. Nope, you have to buy something too and act cool as a cucumber. That way you aren't very suspicious at all. He said he used to shoplift a lot when he was a kid. Then he became the Joker and simple crimes were a thing of the past. Anyway, even if he took off the make up and costume, people would still be able to recognize him. The big scars were kinda a dead give away.

I'm lucky. I can walk around in the street without a single person recognizing me. That's because no one except the gang members ever got to know my face before I started putting on the make up. So, I can take the clown paint off when I want to go out. It's so interesting to be walking down the street smiling at all those people who have no idea that you're the one that robbed that big bank last night. They have no idea what you've done.

Another trick with shoplifting is not to do it at the same place too often. Otherwise, they'd start to catch on and you'd be in deep trouble. Today was a pretty good haul. I actually bought a newspaper, some lipstick, a bag of chips, and some cigarettes. I got away with a big haul this time. It was kind of bizarre stuff though. Whenever I went shoplifting I wasn't too picky, so pretty much the stuff my hands touched were stolen. It's kind of like therapy for me. My hands steal things that represent what I need.

What did I steal this time? Most of it was just the usual stuff. A few packs of gum, some candy bars, and a couple small nail polish bottles for the kids. It was hard, but I managed to make off with two packages of ground meat and a loaf of bread. Those had been hard to sneak out under my coat. I picked up a few things for other people like more cigarettes, a package of pens, a spatula, and other stuff like that. Once all that stuff is taking out of the equation, you get what I stole for myself: five tubes of ruby red lipstick, a whoopee cushion, and a box of green hair dye. I'll let you figure out what I needed.


	4. Laugh It Up

"Dare to wear the foolish clown face."

-Frank Sinatra-

If I could only have one favorite thing about the head quarters, it would have to be all the old, dust-coated windows. Looking through them is like seeing the world from a different point of view. Looking into the lives of the other people on the streets. You can see them walking past, but they can't see you. They keep on going with whatever it is they've got to do. When Jackory and I were kids we would lay around by a window and give each person that walked by a back story. Most of them were very dramatic and involved a handful of deaths. We found ways to connect people to each other until all of the stories were woven together. It was hard to keep track of though and eventually we started getting distracted by each other. After Jackory became the Joker, we didn't do things like that anymore.

On a handful of rare days, all the dirt and grime would be washed away as a violent thunderstorm rolled through Gotham. The water would wash little paths in the dust, giving me only glimpses of what the outside world really looked like. After waiting long enough, the window was finally clean, still shimmering with the clouds' tears. It was totally different looking out of the clear window. There would still be a lot of people in the streets, but they'd be able to see me too. Most of the time they didn't let their eyes wander to the old factory. They all knew who, or what, was in there. Only the really brave ones would look back at me. Their eyes always betrayed their thoughts. All they saw was a young girl trapped in the head quarters of the most notorious villain in Gotham. They didn't see that I was safe, dry, and actually very happy. Those silly people didn't know Jackory was standing in the shadows. I was watching the rain fall against the windows when I heard a voice at my doorway. She had that same bored tone she used almost all the time. I think she used it because around new people it made her sound cool and aloof, like she had done and seen everything. If you didn't talk to her much, you sorta got that effect, but if you talked to her all the time it got old pretty fast. "Do you have any clothes that aren't red, black, or white?"

I turned around to see my best friend leaning against my door frame, tugging at pieces of her new neon blue hair, which looked like it might fall out at any second if any more damage was done to it. She dyed, sprayed, and straightened her hair all the time. Now that I think about it, I'm not even sure what her natural color looks like. Her hair was just one of the more flamboyant things about her. Tricks liked making a statement. Knowing her, she wouldn't be interested in borrowing a pair of jeans. She probably had about twenty pairs of her own. It took me a moment to think of something, anything. My throat stung when I said, "Yeah, I have my green-"

"Your old army jacket doesn't count." Tricksie grinned at me like a gargoyle before snapping her gum. I could tell she had purposefully put that little laugh at the end. She knew she was walking on thin ice.

"Whatever..." I rolled my eyes, pulling myself away from the window. Honestly, if Tricksie wasn't my best friend I would hate her. That doesn't make much sense I suppose. There's a lot of stuff I really hate about Tricksie. You have to get past those things to get to know her. Once you do know her, you get to see all the really nice parts of her. She's a real sweetie deep down under the gallons of hair dye, makeup, and hairspray. Whenever things got rough, Tricksie would always come along and take care of me, like she had this sixth sense or something. We owe each other a lot. Anyway, I shuffled over to my box of a closet and started rummaging around for a piece of clothing that fit her specifications. Knowing Tricks, she would want something flashy and outrageous, the better to get noticed in. Most of my clothes were pretty dull, if you exclude the Harley Quinn costumes. I pushed through mountains of black jeans, nearly thread bare white t-shirts, and old sneakers, looking for that one skirt I had stolen from some really high end store in the good part of Gotham. Where was that skirt? Tricksie had been awfully quiet while I was looking, so when she took a deep breath I realized something important was coming. I knew what she was going to say before the words had even left her mouth, it was painstakingly obvious that she had some other motives for bothering me, "So…how're you doin'?"

Why did she have to bring this up? I was doing just fine before she walked in here! The urge to scream at her pooled in my stomach. It started crawling up my throat, but I swallowed it back down. "What type of dumb ass question is that? I'm doing just as well as I was a few days ago."

Awkward silence spread out between us like her stupid bubblegum. For once, she wasn't chewing her gum like a cow chewing cud. I felt a cold hand on my shoulder. Was everyone here cold? There never seemed to be a warm touch. She wanted me to look over my shoulder at her. Tricksie can read peoples' eyes, so she tries to get them to look at her as much as possible. No way was I gonnna give her that. She would never understand what she saw completely. It wasn't a pain that just anyone can relate to. It's so much stronger. My voice nearly got lost in my throat as I choked out, "Do you wanna borrow my blue sequin skirt? It'll match your hair…"

Before I could protest, she was hugging me. She had managed to make me stand up too. Usually Tricksie is shorter than me, but with her four inch platforms, she was the taller one for once. Her hand gently steered my head into the crook of her neck, "You can't cry anymore, huh?"

I wrenched myself out of her grasp, ducking under her arms. It was a lot easier than I would have thought. All that time fighting against him must have come in handy after all. My heart gave a painful twinge at the memories. How dare she! Couldn't she just leave me alone? I bet they sent her up here to check on me. The rage clawed it's way back up from my stomach. My throat hurt as I yelled, "Do you want the damn skirt or not?"

I turned my back on her, walking back over to the window. When I looked up at the clouds, I noticed the storm had gotten a lot worse. The purple lines of lightening were snaking through the endless grey. Thunderstorms were best at night. The way the lightening would make all the darkness go away was beautiful. Lightening was so dangerous and violent, but it still managed to do something good. I felt my eyes start to tear up, but no tears would fall. She was right. I couldn't cry anymore. My shoulders started to shake, but I couldn't look away from the window. Tricks noticed, shutting the door with a soft click and tiptoeing towards me in her sky-high heels. Her sparkly blue fingernails flashed in the fluorescent lights as she drew the tattered old curtains shut. She was snapping at me now, calling me a name that seemed to resonate somewhere in my mind. I couldn't hear her well, as if we were underwater. My mind struggled to comprehend as I attempted to read her lips. The word was made of two syllables, but it wasn't "Harley". I would respond to that no matter what. A worried frown spread across her face as she gave up. Tricks always had the same look on her face when she gave up on something. It was such a sad look that it almost made me forget that I had been mad at her. Her hands gripped my shoulders and she shook me gently, "Harley…We don't have to talk about if you want…I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I want you to know that you've got someone to talk to when you feel like it." She rummaged around in her pocket for a second, finally pulling out a Hershey's Kiss. Her fingers pushed it into my jeans pocket as she grinned, "Peace offering?"

"If you do my make up for me I might take you up on that offer." I smiled wryly up at her, rubbing my eyes roughly with my fists. Tricks was a wizard with makeup because she practically painted herself a knew face every day. Anyway, I couldn't do my makeup by myself because my hands were still shaking. I couldn't just go face the rest of the gang without my face masked. They didn't need to see how much pain I was in. I had to wear that clown face until they told me I could stop. It was my duty, simple as that. She sat me down in front of the cracked mirror I had leaned against the peeling walls, her hands already reaching for the stash of clown paint and lipstick behind the mirror. I closed my eyes, letting her work her magic. First came the cool sensation of the white paste being slathered onto my face. The cream-based glop soothed my skin as if it were a facial. All the while I felt the guilt start to coil in my stomach. I really shouldn't have yelled at her. Then a thin brush drew a line down each of my eyes. The bristles pressed onto my cheekbones gently, making little circles. I nearly laughed at the irony of Tricksie's choice. Clown tears. Just as I was about to open my eyes, I felt a tug at my hair, something I had not been expecting. After a second I realized she was putting my hair into the customary pig tails.

"There! Now you're all done!" She chimed, turning me towards the mirror. This was my cue to open my eyes and gasp in wonder at my transformation. Even though I knew exactly what she had done, I still smiled and told her how fantastic it was. The guilt made me do it. All she had wanted to do was be nice to me. For God's sake, did I want to drive away the only person I had left? Yeah, I know I had the gang, but I wasn't that close to any of them. None of them were really my friends. I was just a sister or a mother to the rest of them.

I took in a breath, ready to apologize for how badly I had reacted. The air in my lungs left with a whoosh. A scream was ringing through the crumbling concrete walls, bouncing all around until it reached our ears. It was gut wrenching, tear jerking, bloodcurdling. That scream was everything. Something deep inside of my was touched by it. It hurt so much. My eyes went wide, "No! No, no, no…"

How could they?! Hadn't I already been punished enough? She had tricked me! All those "kind" words were just a distraction. I had a right to be there! My bare feet smacked lightly against the cold floor as I ran through the hall. The smell of blood was everywhere. There's no mistaking that smell. It was everywhere, hanging in the air like rusty nails. How much blood did it take to do that? One cut's worth or ten? Well, it didn't really matter in this case. All that mattered was that last stroke. That one decisive slash of the knife would challenge fate. Would he struggle or accept what had been laid out for him from the beginning? My heart was stuck in my throat so that every time I tried to breathe, the air couldn't quite go down.

The large metal doors slammed against the concrete walls, clanging and ringing. There was a circle of people in the middle of the room, cheering and jumping around like apes. My vision swam. It was like I was seeing double. The memories were mixing with the fragile reality. Now I was part of the circle. I felt my knees buckle. Was I in the past or present? Jackory was in front of me, grinning and telling me everything would be fine. There was no fight for him. He had been hand picked. The knife flew through the air, etching an everlasting smile into his face. What had worried me most was that he didn't cry out. He just sat there, eyes wide, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw shook. When he stood, I saw his legs shaking with the forced composure. His hand floated towards me like a ghostly white glove. I took it and was pulled forward into a bloody kiss. Iron was the only thing I could taste and smell, but it was the happiest moment of my life. The crowd roared. They didn't notice how heavily he leaned against me as we walked from the room.

"Jackory…" The word came out as a whisper. It was like my mind was falling back into my body, back into the real world. The memory still lingered in the corners of my brain, trying to edge its way back into power. I couldn't live in the past right now. This was the last moment of my life. As soon as he accepted his role, mine would be forfeit to some other girl. I would hold on to this real moment for as long as possible. When all was said and done, there would be time to live in memories.

I didn't even have to shove my way through the crowd, they just let me pass. In the center of the circle, two young men circled each other, bloody switchblades clutched in their hands. The moment I saw them, I knew which one was going to win. He was tall, lanky, and thin, but there was a spark in his eye. Something about him seemed so familiar, but my mind couldn't place the face. All I could force myself to remember was that he was a friend of Jackory's. That would explain the smoldering eyes. That's why he was going to win.

I don't remember how long the fight lasted. I wasn't all there. That last blow will be forever embedded in my memory. The blade flashed through the air and I saw double again. Jackory's cheek…The other Joker's cheek…The blood was flowing so much. A hush fell through the crowd as he staggered up, hand clutching at the gash in his face. The ring of observers parted for him. His blood dripped to the floor like a demented trail of crumbs. Where was he going, you ask? To find his Harley. I hadn't noticed them before, but there they all were, standing in a perfect little line. The little things looked scared out of their minds. I took a deep breath and walked away.

This was the end. I should go get my shit out of the room. What would I do after that? They'd let me leave, right? Maybe not.

There was a gasp for breath and a soft thump from somewhere behind me. It was hard to fight back the smile. Little thing's heart couldn't take it I guess. Well, that one wasn't going to be stealing my life, that's for sure.

"Harley…"

I couldn't breathe. He had found her. My feet kept moving, though I wanted to turn back. I was on puppet strings now. Hopefully the strings would help guide me after this. They might be able to get me a normal life.

"Harley!"

I flinched automatically. That girl better respond soon or she would regret it. The Joker is never patient, even if it is for his Harley. Especially at first. After all, Harley is picked based on who would be best for the role. It's kinda like imprinting. I guess. Just a few more steps and I'd be out the door. Then I could run away from here. Run and run until I was at the end of the world. Someone grabbed my shoulder roughly. Tricksie's not that strong. They spun me around and a hand connected with my head. The force of the fist sent me to the floor, sprawled in a pathetic little heap. I didn't make a sound until my skull hit the concrete. Fingers grasped at my neck, digging deep in my the fabric of my collar. The back of my t-shirt strained against my lolling head as I was hefted into a sitting position. What the hell was going on? My eyes rolled around, struggling to make sense of this spinning world. He was holding on to me, a maniac glint in his eye. What had I done? How was this possible? I could smell the blood, both his and mine.

"Daddy's back, Harl. Laugh it up!" The sentence ended in a shrill laugh that chilled my bones and warmed my blood.


End file.
